[Illustration]
_Descriptive of an Affecting Interview between Mr. Samuel Weller
and a Family Party. Mr. Pickwick makes a Tour of the Diminutive
World he inhabits, and resolves to mix with it, in future, as
little as possible._
A few mornings after his incarceration, Mr. Samuel Weller, having
arranged his master's room with all possible care, and seen him
comfortably seated over his books and papers, withdrew to employ
himself for an hour or two to come, as he best could. It was a fine
morning, and it occurred to Sam that a pint of porter in the open air
would lighten his next quarter of an hour or so, as well as any little
amusement in which he could indulge.
Having arrived at this conclusion, he betook himself to the
tap. Having purchased the beer, and obtained, moreover, the
day-but-one-before-yesterday's paper, he repaired to the
skittle-ground, and seating himself on a bench, proceeded to enjoy
himself in a very sedate and methodical manner.
First of all, he took a refreshing draught of the beer, and then he
looked up at the window, and bestowed a Platonic wink on a young lady
who was peeling potatoes thereat. Then he opened the paper, and folded
it so as to get the police reports outwards; and this being a vexatious
and difficult thing to do, when there is any wind stirring, he took
another draught of the beer when he had accomplished it. Then he read
two lines of the paper, and stopped short to look at a couple of men
who were finishing a game of rackets, which being concluded, he cried
out "wery good" in an approving manner, and looked round upon the
spectators, to ascertain whether their sentiments coincided with his
own. This involved the necessity of looking up at the windows also; and
as the young lady was still there, it was an act of common politeness
to wink again, and to drink to her good health in dumb show, in another
draught of the beer, which Sam did; and having frowned hideously upon a
small boy who had noted this latter proceeding with open eyes, he threw
one leg over the other, and holding the newspaper in both hands, began
to read in real earnest.
He had hardly composed himself into the needful state of abstraction,
when he thought he heard his own name proclaimed in some distant
passage. Nor was he mistaken, for it quickly passed from mouth to
mouth, and in a few seconds the air teemed with shouts of "Weller!"
"Here!" roared Sam, in a stentorian voice. "Wot's the matter? Who wants
him? Has an express come to say that his country-house is afire?"
"Somebody wants you in the hall," said a man who was standing by.
"Just mind that 'ere paper and the pot, old feller, will you?" said
Sam. "I'm a comin'. Blessed, if they was a callin' me to the bar they
couldn't make more noise about it!"
Accompanying these words with a gentle rap on the head of the young
gentleman before noticed, who, unconscious of his close vicinity to
the person in request, was screaming "Weller!" with all his might, Sam
hastened across the ground, and ran up the steps into the hall. Here,
the first object that met his eyes was his beloved father sitting on a
bottom stair, with his hat in his hand, shouting out "Weller!" in his
very loudest tone, at half-minute intervals.
"Wot are you a roarin' at?" said Sam impetuously, when the old
gentleman had discharged himself of another shout; "makin' yourself so
precious hot that you looks like a aggrawated glass-blower. Wot's the
matter?"
"Aha!" replied the old gentleman, "I began to be afeerd that you'd gone
for a walk round the Regency Park, Sammy."
"Come," said Sam, "none o' them taunts agin the wictim o' avarice, and
come off that 'ere step. Wot are you a settin' down there for? I don't
live there."
"I've got such a game for you, Sammy," said the elder Mr. Weller,
rising.
"Stop a minit," said Sam, "you're all vite behind."
"That's right, Sammy, rub it off," said Mr. Weller, as his son dusted
him. "It might look personal here, if a man walked about with whitevash
on his clothes, eh, Sammy?"
As Mr. Weller exhibited in this place unequivocal symptoms of an
approaching fit of chuckling, Sam interposed to stop it.
"Keep quiet, do," said Sam, "there never vos such a old picter-card
born. What are you bustin' vith, now?"
"Sammy," said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead, "I'm afeerd that vun o'
these days I shall laugh myself into a appleplexy, my boy."
"Vell then, wot do you do it for?" said Sam. "Now; wot have you got to
say?"
"Who do you think's come here with me, Samivel?" said Mr. Weller,
drawing back a pace or two, pursing up his mouth, and extending his
eyebrows.
"Pell?" said Sam.
Mr. Weller shook his head, and his red cheek expanded with the laughter
that was endeavouring to find a vent.
"Mottled-faced man, p'r'aps?" suggested Sam.
Again Mr. Weller shook his head.
"Who then?" asked Sam.
"Your mother-in-law," said Mr. Weller; and it was lucky he did say it,
or his cheeks must inevitably have cracked from their most unnatural
distension.
"Your mother-in-law, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, "and the red-nosed man,
my boy; and the red-nosed man. Ho! ho! ho!"
With this, Mr. Weller launched into convulsions of laughter, while
Sam regarded him with a broad grin gradually overspreading his whole
countenance.
"They've come to have a little serious talk with you, Samivel," said
Mr. Weller, wiping his eyes. "Don't let out nothin' about the unnat'ral
creditor, Sammy."
"Wot! don't they know who it is?" inquired Sam.
"Not a bit on it," replied his father.
"Vere are they?" said Sam, reciprocating all the old gentleman's grins.
"In the snuggery," rejoined Mr. Weller. "Catch the red-nosed man a
goin' anyvere but vere the liquors is; not he, Samivel, not he. Ve'd a
wery pleasant ride along the road from the Markis this mornin', Sammy,"
said Mr. Weller, when he felt himself equal to the task of speaking
in an articulate manner. "I drove the old piebald in that 'ere little
shay-cart as belonged to your mother-in-law's first wenter, into vich
a harm-cheer wos lifted for the shepherd; and I'm blest," said Mr.
Weller, with a look of deep scorn: "I'm blest if they didn't bring a
portable flight o' steps out into the road a front o' our door, for him
to get up by."
[Illustration: "_I drove the old piebald._"]
"You don't mean that?" said Sam.
"I _do_ mean that, Sammy," replied his father, "and I vish you could
ha' seen how tight he held on by the sides wen he did get up, as if he
wos afeerd o' being precipitayted down full six foot, and dashed into
a million o' hatoms. He tumbled in at last, however, and avay ve vent;
and I rayther think, I say I rayther think, Samivel, that he found
his-self a little jolted ven ve turned the corners."
"Wot! I s'pose you happened to drive up agin a post or two?" said Sam.
"I'm afeerd," replied Mr. Weller, in a rapture of winks, "I'm afeerd I
took vun or two on 'em, Sammy; he wos a flyin' out o' the harm-cheer
all the way."
Here the old gentleman shook his head from side to side, and was seized
with a hoarse internal rumbling, accompanied with a violent swelling
of the countenance, and a sudden increase in the breadth of all his
features; symptoms which alarmed his son not a little.
"Don't be frightened, Sammy, don't be frightened," said the old
gentleman, when by dint of much struggling, and various convulsive
stamps upon the ground, he had recovered his voice. "It's only a kind
o' quiet laugh as I'm a tryin' to come, Sammy."
"Well, if that's wot it is," said Sam, "you'd better not try to come it
agin. You'll find it rayther a dangerous inwention."
"Don't you like it, Sammy?" inquired the old gentleman.
"Not at all," replied Sam.
"Well," said Mr. Weller, with the tears still running down his cheeks,
"it 'ud ha' been a wery great accommodation to me if I could ha' done
it, and 'ud ha' saved a good many vords atween your mother-in-law and
me, sometimes; but I am afeerd you're right, Sammy: it's too much in
the appleplexy line--a deal too much, Samivel."
This conversation brought them to the door of the snuggery, into which
Sam--pausing for an instant to look over his shoulder, and cast a sly
leer at his respected progenitor, who was still giggling behind--at
once led the way.
"Mother-in-law," said Sam, politely saluting the lady, "wery much
obliged to you for this here wisit. Shepherd, how air you?"
"Oh, Samuel!" said Mrs. Weller. "This is dreadful."
"Not a bit of it, mum," replied Sam. "Is it, shepherd?"
Mr. Stiggins raised his hands, and turned up his eyes, till the
whites--or rather the yellows--were alone visible; but made no reply in
words.
"Is this here gen'l'm'n troubled vith any painful complaint?" said Sam,
looking to his mother-in-law for explanation.
"The good man is grieved to see you here, Samuel," replied Mrs. Weller.
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Sam. "I was afeerd, from his manner, that
he might a' forgotten to take pepper with that 'ere last cowcumber he
eat. Set down, sir, ve make no extra charge for the settin' down, as
the king remarked ven he blowed up his ministers."
"Young man," said Mr. Stiggins ostentatiously, "I fear you are not
softened by imprisonment."
"Beg your pardon, sir," replied Sam; "wot wos you graciously pleased to
hobserve?"
"I apprehend, young man, that your nature is no softer for this
chastening," said Mr. Stiggins, in a loud voice.
"Sir," replied Sam, "you're wery kind to say so. I hope my natur is
_not_ a soft vun, sir. Wery much obliged to you for your good opinion,
sir."
At this point of the conversation, a sound, indecorously approaching
to a laugh, was heard to proceed from the chair in which the elder Mr.
Weller was seated; upon which Mrs. Weller, on a hasty consideration of
all the circumstances of the case, considered it her bounden duty to
become gradually hysterical.
"Weller," said Mrs. W. (the old gentleman was seated in a corner);
"Weller! Come forth."
"Wery much obleeged to you, my dear," replied Mr. Weller; "but I'm
quite comfortable vere I am."
Upon this Mrs. Weller burst into tears.
"Wot's gone wrong, mum?" said Sam.
"Oh, Samuel!" replied Mrs. Weller, "your father makes me wretched. Will
nothing do him good?"
"Do you hear this here?" said Sam. "Lady wants to know vether nothin'
'ull do you good."
"Wery much indebted to Mrs. Weller for her po-lite inquiries, Sammy,"
replied the old gentleman. "I think a pipe vould benefit me a good
deal. Could I be accommodated, Sammy?"
Here Mrs. Weller let fall some more tears, and Mr. Stiggins groaned.
"Hallo! Here's this unfort'nate gen'l'm'n took ill agin," said Sam,
looking round. "Vere do you feel it now, sir?"
"In the same place, young man," rejoined Mr. Stiggins: "in the same
place."
"Vere may that be, sir?" inquired Sam, with great outward simplicity.
"In the buzzim, young man," replied Mr. Stiggins, placing his umbrella
on his waistcoat.
At this affecting reply, Mrs. Weller, being wholly unable to suppress
her feelings, sobbed aloud, and stated her conviction that the
red-nosed man was a saint; whereupon Mr. Weller senior ventured to
suggest, in an undertone, that he must be the representative of the
united parishes of St. Simon Without and St. Walker Within.
"I'm afeerd, mum," said Sam, "that this here gen'l'm'n, with the
twist in his countenance, feels rayther thirsty, with the melancholy
spectacle afore him. Is it the case, mum?"
The worthy lady looked at Mr. Stiggins for a reply; that gentleman,
with many rollings of the eye, clenched his throat with his right hand,
and mimicked the act of swallowing, to intimate that he was athirst.
"I am afraid, Samuel, that his feelings have made him so, indeed," said
Mrs. Weller, mournfully.
"Wot's your usual tap, sir?" replied Sam.
"Oh, my dear young friend," replied Mr. Stiggins, "all taps is
vanities!"
"Too true, too true, indeed," said Mrs. Weller, murmuring a groan, and
shaking her head assentingly.
"Well," said Sam, "I des-say they may be, sir; but which is your
partickler wanity? Vich wanity do you like the flavour on best, sir?"
"Oh, my dear young friend," replied Mr. Stiggins, "I despise them all.
If," said Mr. Stiggins, "if there is any one of them less odious than
another, it is the liquor called rum. Warm, my dear young friend, with
three lumps of sugar to the tumbler."
"Wery sorry to say, sir," said Sam, "that they don't allow that
partickler wanity to be sold in this here establishment."
"Oh, the hardness of heart of these inveterate men!" ejaculated Mr.
Stiggins. "Oh, the accursed cruelty of these inhuman persecutors!"
With these words Mr. Stiggins again cast up his eyes, and rapped
his breast with his umbrella; and it is but justice to the reverend
gentleman to say, that his indignation appeared very real and unfeigned
indeed.
After Mrs. Weller and the red-nosed gentleman had commented on this
inhuman usage in a very forcible manner, and had vented a variety of
pious and holy execrations against its authors, the latter recommended
a bottle of port wine, warmed with a little water, spice, and sugar, as
being grateful to the stomach, and savouring less of vanity than many
other compounds. It was accordingly ordered to be prepared. Pending its
preparation the red-nosed man and Mrs. Weller looked at the elder W.
and groaned.
"Well, Sammy," said that gentleman, "I hope you'll find your
spirits rose by this here lively wisit. Wery cheerful and improvin'
conwersation, ain't it, Sammy?"
"You're a reprobate," replied Sam; "and I desire you won't address no
more o' them ungraceful remarks to me."
So far from being edified by this very proper reply, the elder Mr.
Weller at once relapsed into a broad grin; and this inexorable
conduct causing the lady and Mr. Stiggins to close their eyes, and
rock themselves to and fro on their chairs in a troubled manner, he
furthermore indulged in several acts of pantomime, indicative of a
desire to pummel and wring the nose of the aforesaid Stiggins; the
performance of which appeared to afford him great mental relief. The
old gentleman very narrowly escaped detection in one instance: Mr.
Stiggins happening to give a start on the arrival of the negus, brought
his head in smart contact with the clenched fist with which Mr. Weller
had been describing imaginary fireworks in the air, within two inches
of his ear, for some minutes.
"Wot are you a reachin' out your hand for the tumbler in that 'ere
sawage way for?" said Sam, with great promptitude. "Don't you see
you've hit the gen'l'm'n?"
"I didn't go to do it, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, in some degree abashed
by the very unexpected occurrence of the incident.
"Try an in'ard application, sir," said Sam, as the red-nosed gentleman
rubbed his head with a rueful visage. "Wot do you think o' that, for a
go o' wanity warm, sir?"
Mr. Stiggins made no verbal answer, but his manner was expressive. He
tasted the contents of the glass which Sam had placed in his hand;
put his umbrella on the floor, and tasted it again: passing his hand
placidly across his stomach twice or thrice; he then drank the whole at
a breath, and smacking his lips, held out the tumbler for more.
Nor was Mrs. Weller behind-hand in doing justice to the composition.
The good lady began by protesting that she couldn't touch a drop--then
took a small drop--then a large drop--then a great many drops; and her
feelings being of the nature of those substances which are powerfully
affected by the application of strong waters, she dropped a tear with
every drop of negus, and so got on, melting the feelings down, until at
length she had arrived at a very pathetic and decent pitch of misery.
The elder Mr. Weller observed these signs and tokens with many
manifestations of disgust, and when, after a second jug of the same,
Mr. Stiggins began to sigh in a dismal manner, he plainly evinced his
disapprobation of the whole proceedings, by sundry incoherent ramblings
of speech, among which frequent angry repetitions of the word "gammon"
were alone distinguishable to the ear.
"I'll tell you wot it is, Samivel, my boy," whispered the old gentleman
into his son's ear, after a long and steadfast contemplation of his
lady and Mr. Stiggins; "I think there must be somethin' wrong in your
mother-in-law's inside, as vell as in that o' the red-nosed man."
"Wot do you mean?" said Sam.
"I mean this here, Sammy," replied the old gentleman, "that wot they
drink don't seem no nourishment to 'em; it all turns to warm water,
and comes a pourin' out o' their eyes. 'Pend upon it, Sammy, it's a
constitootional infirmity."
Mr. Weller delivered this scientific opinion with many confirmatory
frowns and nods; which Mrs. Weller remarking, and concluding that they
bore some disparaging reference either to herself or to Mr. Stiggins,
or to both, was on the point of becoming infinitely worse, when Mr.
Stiggins, getting on his legs as well as he could, proceeded to
deliver an edifying discourse for the benefit of the company, but more
especially of Mr. Samuel, whom he adjured in moving terms to be upon
his guard in that sink of iniquity into which he was cast; to abstain
from all hypocrisy and pride of heart; and to take in all things exact
pattern and copy by him (Stiggins), in which case he might calculate
on arriving, sooner or later, at the comfortable conclusion that, like
him, he was a most estimable and blameless character, and that all
his acquaintance and friends were hopelessly abandoned and profligate
wretches. Which consideration, he said, could not but afford him the
liveliest satisfaction.
He furthermore conjured him to avoid, above all things, the vice of
intoxication, which he likened unto the filthy habits of swine, and to
those poisonous and baleful drugs which, being chewed in the mouth,
are said to filch away the memory. At this point of his discourse, the
reverend and red-nosed gentleman became singularly incoherent, and
staggering to and fro in the excitement of his eloquence, was fain to
catch at the back of a chair to preserve his perpendicular.
Mr. Stiggins did not desire his hearers to be upon their guard against
those false prophets and wretched mockers of religion, who, without
sense to expound its first doctrines, or hearts to feel its first
principles, are more dangerous members of society than the common
criminal; imposing, as they necessarily do, upon the weakest and worst
informed, casting scorn and contempt on what should be held most
sacred, and bringing into partial disrepute large bodies of virtuous
and well-conducted persons of many excellent sects and persuasions. But
as he leant over the back of the chair for a considerable time, and
closing one eye, winked a good deal with the other, it is presumed that
he thought all this, but kept it to himself.
During the delivery of the oration, Mrs. Weller sobbed and wept at
the end of the paragraphs; while Sam, sitting cross-legged on a chair
and resting his arms on the top-rail, regarded the speaker with great
suavity and blandness of demeanour; occasionally bestowing a look of
recognition on the old gentleman, who was delighted at the beginning,
and went to sleep about half-way.
"Brayvo; wery pretty!" said Sam, when the red-nosed man, having
finished, pulled his worn gloves on: thereby thrusting his fingers
through the broken tops till the knuckles were disclosed to view. "Wery
pretty."
"I hope it may do you good, Samuel," said Mrs. Weller, solemnly.
"I think it vill, mum," replied Sam.
"I wish I could hope that it would do your father good," said Mrs.
Weller.
"Thankee, my dear," said Mr. Weller senior. "How do _you_ find yourself
arter it, my love?"
"Scoffer!" exclaimed Mrs. Weller.
"Benighted man!" said the Reverend Mr. Stiggins.
"If I don't get no better light than that 'ere moonshine o' yourn,
my worthy creetur," said the elder Mr. Weller, "it's wery likely
as I shall continey to be a night coach till I'm took off the road
altogether. Now, Mrs. We, if the piebald stands at livery much longer,
he'll stand at nothing as we go back, and p'r'aps that 'ere harm-cheer
'ull be tipped over into some hedge or another, with the shepherd in
it."
At this supposition, the Reverend Mr. Stiggins, in evident
consternation, gathered up his hat and umbrella, and proposed an
immediate departure, to which Mrs. Weller assented. Sam walked with
them to the lodge-gate, and took a dutiful leave.
"A-do, Samivel," said the old gentleman.
"Wot's a-do?" inquired Sammy.
"Well, good-bye, then," said the old gentleman.
"Oh, that's wot you're a aimin' at, is it?" said Sam. "Good-bye!"
"Sammy," whispered Mr. Weller, looking cautiously round; "my duty to
your gov'ner, and tell him if he thinks better o' this here bis'ness,
to commoonicate vith me. Me and a cab'net-maker has devised a plan
for gettin' him out. A pianner, Samivel, a pianner!" said Mr. Weller,
striking his son on the chest with the back of his hand, and falling
back a step or two.
"Wot do you mean?" said Sam.
"A pianner forty, Samivel," rejoined Mr. Weller, in a still more
mysterious manner, "as we can have on hire; vun as von't play, Sammy."
"And wot 'ud be the good o' that?" said Sam.
"Let him send to my friend, the cab'net-maker, to fetch it back,
Sammy," replied Mr. Weller. "Are you avake now?"
"No," rejoined Sam.
"There ain't no vurks in it," whispered his father. "It 'ull hold him
easy, vith his hat and shoes on, and breathe through the legs, vich
his holler. Have a passage ready taken for 'Merriker. The 'Merrikin
gov'ment will never give him up, ven they find as he's got money to
spend, Sammy. Let the gov'ner stop there, till Mrs. Bardell's dead, or
Mr. Dodson and Fogg's hung (which last ewent I think is the most likely
to happen first, Sammy), and then let him come back and write a book
about the 'Merrikins, as'll pay all his expenses and more, if he blows
'em up enough."
Mr. Weller delivered this hurried abstract of his plot with great
vehemence of whisper; then, as if fearful of weakening the effect of
the tremendous communication, by any further dialogue, he gave the
coachman's salute, and vanished.
Sam had scarcely recovered his usual composure of countenance, which
had been greatly disturbed by the secret communication of his respected
relative, when Mr. Pickwick accosted him.
"Sam," said that gentleman.
"Sir?" replied Mr. Weller.
"I am going for a walk round the prison, and I wish you to attend me.
I see a prisoner we know coming this way, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick,
smiling.
"Wich, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller; "the gen'l'm'n vith the head o' hair,
or the interestin' captive in the stockin's?"
"Neither," rejoined Mr. Pickwick. "He is an older friend of yours, Sam."
"O' mine, sir?" exclaimed Mr. Weller.
"You recollect the gentleman very well, I dare say, Sam," replied Mr.
Pickwick, "or else you are more unmindful of your old acquaintances
than I think you are. Hush! not a word, Sam; not a syllable. Here he
is."
As Mr. Pickwick spoke, Jingle walked up. He looked less miserable than
before, being clad in a half-worn suit of clothes, which, with Mr.
Pickwick's assistance, had been released from the pawnbroker's. He wore
clean linen too, and had had his hair cut. He was very pale and thin,
however; and as he crept slowly up, leaning on a stick, it was easy to
see that he had suffered severely from illness and want, and was still
very weak. He took off his hat as Mr. Pickwick saluted him, and seemed
much humbled and abashed at sight of Sam Weller.
Following close at his heels, came Mr. Job Trotter, in the catalogue
of whose vices, want of faith and attachment to his companion could at
all events find no place. He was still ragged and squalid, but his face
was not quite so hollow as on his first meeting with Mr. Pickwick a few
days before. As he took off his hat to our benevolent old friend, he
murmured some broken expressions of gratitude, and muttered something
about having been saved from starving.
"Well, well," said Mr. Pickwick, impatiently interrupting him, "you
can follow with Sam. I want to speak to you, Mr. Jingle. Can you walk
without his arm?"
"Certainly, sir--all ready--not too fast--legs--shaky--head queer round
and round--earthquaky sort of feeling--very."
"Here, give me your arm," said Mr. Pickwick.
"No, no," replied Jingle; "won't indeed--rather not."
"Nonsense," said Mr. Pickwick; "lean upon me, I desire, sir."
Seeing that he was confused and agitated, and uncertain what to do, Mr.
Pickwick cut the matter short by drawing the invalided stroller's arm
through his, and leading him away, without saying another word about it.
During the whole of this time, the countenance of Mr. Samuel Weller
had exhibited an expression of the most overwhelming and absorbing
astonishment that the imagination can portray. After looking from Job
to Jingle, and from Jingle to Job, in profound silence, he softly
ejaculated the words, "Well, I _am_ damn'd!" Which he repeated at least
a score of times: after which exertion, he appeared wholly bereft of
speech, and again cast his eyes, first upon the one and then upon the
other, in mute perplexity and bewilderment.
"Now, Sam!" said Mr. Pickwick, looking back.
"I'm a comin', sir," replied Mr. Weller, mechanically following his
master; and still he lifted not his eyes from Mr. Job Trotter, who
walked at his side, in silence.
Job kept his eyes fixed on the ground for some time. Sam, with his
glued to Job's countenance, ran up against the people who were walking
about, and fell over little children, and stumbled against steps and
railings, without appearing at all sensible of it, until Job, looking
stealthily up, said:
"How do you do, Mr. Weller?"
"It _is_ him!" exclaimed Sam: and having established Job's identity
beyond all doubt, he smote his leg, and vented his feelings in a long
shrill whistle.
"Things has altered with me, sir," said Job.
"I should think they had," exclaimed Mr. Weller, surveying his
companion's rags with undisguised wonder. "This is rayther a change
for the worse, Mr. Trotter, as the gen'l'm'n said wen he got two
doubtful shillin's and sixpenn'orth o' pocket pieces for a good
half-crown."
"It is indeed," replied Job, shaking his head. "There is no deception
now, Mr. Weller. Tears," said Job, with a look of momentary slyness,
"tears are not the only proofs of distress, nor the best ones."
"No, they ain't," replied Sam, expressively.
"They may be put on, Mr. Weller," said Job.
"I know they may," said Sam; "some people, indeed, has 'em always ready
laid on, and can pull out the plug wenever they likes."
"Yes," replied Job; "but _these_ sort of things are not so easily
counterfeited, Mr. Weller, and it is a more painful process to get them
up." As he spoke, he pointed to his sallow, sunken cheeks, and, drawing
up his coat sleeves, disclosed an arm which looked as if the bone could
be broken at a touch: so sharp and brittle did it appear beneath its
thin covering of flesh.
"Wot have you been a doin' to yourself?" said Sam, recoiling.
"Nothing," replied Job.
"Nothin'!" echoed Sam.
"I have been doin' nothing for many weeks past," said Job; "and eating
and drinking almost as little."
Sam took one comprehensive glance at Mr. Trotter's thin face and
wretched apparel; and then, seizing him by the arm, commenced dragging
him away with great violence.
"Where are you going, Mr. Weller?" said Job, vainly struggling in the
powerful grasp of his old enemy.
"Come on," said Sam; "come on!" He deigned no further explanation until
they reached the tap; and then called for a pot of porter which was
speedily produced.
"Now," said Sam, "drink that up, ev'ry drop on it, and then turn the
pot upside down, to let me see as you've took the med'cine."
"But, my dear Mr. Weller," remonstrated Job.
"Down vith it!" said Sam peremptorily.
Thus admonished, Mr. Trotter raised the pot to his lips, and, by
gentle and almost imperceptible degrees, tilted it into the air. He
paused once, and only once, to draw a long breath, but without raising
his face from the vessel, which, in a few moments thereafter, he held
out at arm's length, bottom upward. Nothing fell upon the ground but a
few particles of froth, which slowly detached themselves from the rim,
and trickled lazily down.
"Well done!" said Sam. "How do you find yourself arter it?"
"Better, sir. I think I am better," responded Job.
"O' course you air," said Sam, argumentatively. "It's like puttin' gas
in a balloon. I can see with the naked eye that you gets stouter under
the operation. Wot do you say to another o' the same di-mensions?"
"I would rather not, I am much obliged to you, sir," replied Job, "much
rather not."
"Vell then, wot do you say to some wittles?" inquired Sam.
"Thanks to your worthy governor, sir," said Mr. Trotter, "we have half
a leg of mutton, baked, at a quarter before three, with the potatoes
under it to save boiling."
"Wot! Has _he_ been a purwidin' for you?" asked Sam emphatically.
"He has, sir," replied Job. "More than that, Mr. Weller; my master
being very ill, he got us a room--we were in a kennel before--and paid
for it, sir; and come to look at us, at night, when nobody should know.
Mr. Weller," said Job, with real tears in his eyes for once, "I could
serve that gentleman till I fell down dead at his feet."
"I say!" said Sam, "I'll trouble you, my friend! None o' that!"
Job Trotter looked amazed.
"None o' that, I say, young feller," repeated Sam firmly. "No
man serves him but me. And now we're upon it, I'll let you into
another secret besides that," said Sam, as he paid for the beer. "I
never heerd, mind you, nor read of it in story-books, nor see in
picters, any angel in tights and gaiters--not even in spectacles,
as I remember, though that may ha' been done for anythin' I know
to the contrairey--but mark my vords, Job Trotter, he's a reg'lar
thorough-bred angel for all that; and let me see the man as wenturs to
tell me he knows a better vun." With this defiance, Mr. Weller buttoned
up his change in a side pocket, and, with many confirmatory nods and
gestures by the way, proceeded in search of the subject of discourse.
They found Mr. Pickwick, in company with Jingle, talking very
earnestly, and not bestowing a look on the groups who were congregated
on the racket-ground; they were very motley groups too, and worth the
looking at if it were only in idle curiosity.
"Well," said Mr. Pickwick, as Sam and his companion drew nigh, "you
will see how your health becomes, and think about it meanwhile. Make
the statement out for me when you feel yourself equal to the task, and
I will discuss the subject with you when I have considered it. Now, go
to your room. You are tired, and not strong enough to be out long."
Mr. Alfred Jingle, without one spark of his old animation--with nothing
even of the dismal gaiety which he had assumed when Mr. Pickwick
first stumbled on him in his misery--bowed low without speaking, and,
motioning to Job not to follow him just yet, crept slowly away.
"Curious scene this, is it not, Sam?" said Mr. Pickwick, looking
good-humouredly round.
"Wery much so, sir," replied Sam. "Wonders 'ull never cease," added
Sam, speaking to himself. "I'm wery much mistaken if that 'ere Jingle
worn't a doin' somethin' in the water-cart way!"
The area formed by the wall in that part of the Fleet in which Mr.
Pickwick stood was just wide enough to make a good racket-court; one
side being formed, of course, by the wall itself, and the other by
that portion of the prison which looked (or rather would have looked,
but for the wall) towards St. Paul's Cathedral. Sauntering or sitting
about, in every possible attitude of listless idleness, were a great
number of debtors, the major part of whom were waiting in prison until
their day of "going up" before the Insolvent Court should arrive; while
others had been remanded for various terms, which they were idling
away as they best could. Some were shabby, some were smart, many dirty,
a few clean; but there they all lounged, and loitered, and slunk about,
with as little spirit or purpose as the beasts in a menagerie.
Lolling from the windows which commanded a view of this promenade, were
a number of persons, some in noisy conversation with their acquaintance
below, others playing at ball with some adventurous throwers outside,
others looking on at the racket-players, or watching the boys as they
cried the game. Dirty, slipshod women passed and re-passed on their way
to the cooking-house in one corner of the yard; children screamed, and
fought, and played together, in another; the tumbling of the skittles,
and the shouts of the players, mingled perpetually with these and a
hundred other sounds; and all was noise and tumult--save in a little
miserable shed a few yards off, where lay, all quiet and ghastly, the
body of the Chancery prisoner who had died the night before, awaiting
the mockery of an inquest. The body! It is the lawyer's term for the
restless whirling mass of cares and anxieties, affections, hopes, and
griefs, that make up the living man. The law _had_ his body; and there
it lay, clothed in grave-clothes, an awful witness to its tender mercy.
"Would you like to see a whistling-shop, sir?" inquired Job Trotter.
"What do you mean?" was Mr. Pickwick's counter inquiry.
"A vistlin' shop, sir," interposed Mr. Weller.
"What is that, Sam? A bird-fancier's?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Bless your heart, no, sir," replied Job; "a whistling-shop, sir, is
where they sell spirits." Mr. Job Trotter briefly explained here that
all persons being prohibited under heavy penalties from conveying
spirits into debtors' prisons, and such commodities being highly prized
by the ladies and gentlemen confined therein, it had occurred to some
speculative turnkey to connive, for certain lucrative considerations,
at two or three prisoners retailing the favourite article of gin, for
their own profit and advantage.
"This plan you see, sir, has been gradually introduced into all the
prisons for debt," said Mr. Trotter.
"And it has this wery great advantage," said Sam, "that the turnkeys
takes wery good care to seize hold o' ev'rybody but them as pays 'em,
that attempts the willainy, and ven it gets in the papers they're
applauded for their wigilance; so it cuts two ways--frightens other
people from the trade, and elewates their own characters."
"Exactly so, Mr. Weller," observed Job.
"Well, but are these rooms never searched to ascertain whether any
spirits are concealed in them?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Cert'nly they are, sir," replied Sam; "but the turnkeys knows
beforehand, and gives the word to the wistlers, and you _may_ whistle
for it ven you go to look."
By this time, Job had tapped at a door, which was opened by a gentleman
with an uncombed head, who bolted it after them when they had walked
in, and grinned; upon which Job grinned, and Sam also; whereupon Mr.
Pickwick, thinking it might be expected of him, kept on smiling to the
end of the interview.
The gentleman with the uncombed head appeared quite satisfied with
this mute announcement of their business, and, producing a flat stone
bottle, which might hold about a couple of quarts, from beneath his
bedstead, filled out three glasses of gin, which Job Trotter and Sam
disposed of in a most workmanlike manner.
"Any more?" said the whistling gentleman.
"No more," replied Job Trotter.
Mr. Pickwick paid, the door was unbolted, and out they came; the
uncombed gentleman bestowing a friendly nod upon Mr. Roker, who
happened to be passing at the moment.
From this spot, Mr. Pickwick wandered along all the galleries, up and
down all the staircases, and once again round the whole area of the
yard. The great body of the prison population appeared to be Mivins,
and Smangle, and the parson, and the butcher, and the leg, over and
over, and over again. There were the same squalor, the same turmoil and
noise, the same general characteristics, in every corner; in the best
and the worst alike. The whole place seemed restless and troubled; and
the people were crowding and flitting to and fro, like the shadows in
an uneasy dream.
"I have seen enough," said Mr. Pickwick, as he threw himself into a
chair in his little compartment. "My head aches with these scenes, and
my heart too. Henceforth I will be a prisoner in my own room."
And Mr. Pickwick steadfastly adhered to this determination. For three
long months he remained shut up, all day; only stealing out at night,
to breathe the air, when the greater part of his fellow-prisoners
were in bed or carousing in their rooms. His health was beginning
to suffer from the closeness of the confinement, but neither the
often-repeated entreaties of Perker and his friends, nor the still more
frequently-repeated warnings and admonitions of Mr. Samuel Weller,
could induce him to alter one jot of his inflexible resolution.